Page 103 of Matteo

It's becoming unbearable.

Tomorrow we go back to work, and that will be strange. It’s not something I want to think about.

“Mind if I take a quick shower?” he asks, when he’s finished.

“Be my guest.” I give him a clean towel, then sit on my couch, trying to read a magazine and failing, because all I can think of is Matteo naked and taking a shower.

Vlad sends me another text about the wedding. I reply quickly, because the wedding date is creeping up and I need to book the time off work.

Elizabeth: I’m coming two days before your wedding, and will stay for three days after.

Vlad: Good. I want you to get to know Valentina. You haven’t met her.

Elizabeth: Cannot wait

Vlad: I’m booking you a room

I shake my head. No he won’t.

Elizabeth: I can take care of that myself. No need to.

Vlad: It’s my wedding, and I’ll do what I want.

Vlad: Also, you’re coming a long way

I quickly text back.

Elizabeth: You will not. I’m grown up now.

Vlad: Stop, mala. I insist.

He always uses the same affectionate nickname for me. Mala. Little one. I put my phone away quickly when I hear footsteps and Matteo appears, still pulling on his fresh T-shirt over a slightly damp body. I catch sight of the ridges and valleys of his abs, hard, like stone. His hips narrowing to a V. He’s wearing stone-washed blue jeans, and he’s barefoot.

“Close your mouth, Elizabeth, you’re drooling.”

I promptly do, my eyes roving all over him. “Tease. You did that on purpose, come out half naked.” I tend to get very horny during this time of the month, and this man is getting harder to resist with each moment.

He walks over to me and sits down beside me. “That’s not half naked. That’s not even a quarter naked.”

“I saw skin,” I protest before slathering him with kisses. “You were looking for a chance to show off your physique.”

“Was not.”

“Was, too. Show off.” We kiss again, mouths meshed together, tongues duelling. I pull away to grab some air.

“This is showing off my physique.”

Before I can blink, his hands cross over and he peels off his T-shirt again. I start to salivate, literally, salivate, at the sight of him. His chest is broad and lean, his muscles carved to perfection. His chest and shoulders are covered in more ink, sweeping black lines intertwined with geometric patterns and fragments of script. They look less like decoration and more like pieces of a map, charting a life that's left its marks on him. His biceps flex as he tosses the shirt aside, the definition in them impossible to ignore.

I pull back, my gaze roving all over him as heat curls low in my belly.

This man is truly beautiful.

I lean forward, kiss his chest, then drop kisses all over him. My nipples turn hard, and he palms my breasts gently, painstakingly slowly, first one and then the other, his thumbs rubbing over the fabric of my clothes and making them tighten even further. We kiss again, long, wet, and deep, so that I'm panting when we pull apart. A familiar ache spreads between my legs. I'm so desperate for him, but as I lean forward to kiss him again, he pulls away.

I swallow, wondering why, but I don’t let that thought linger. Resting my hand lightly over his arm, I trace along the curve of his bicep, feeling the warmth of his skin as my fingers skate over it.

Just like that, he kisses me again, and we end up making out on the couch; hands exploring over clothes, nothing too intimate, but the kissing deepens, like we’re deeply connected, and extracting maximum pleasure from each other.